Hansen looked at the cracked ceiling. “Junior League. Fashion show. Dress got caught in her pantyhose. The back of her pantyhose. No panties.”
Now he remembered. It wasn’t just that she’d mooned most of Houston’s upper crust. There’d been a controversial tattoo…
Oh, the scandal.
“That’s everyone, except the victim, Dennis Donald Duckla, editor.”
Tony’s brows arched at that one. Duckla’s teen years must have been hell. “That’s everyone who has access to the building? What about a cleaning crew?”
Junior and Hansen exchanged glances. Hansen answered. “According to Miss Rutabaga, the cleaning lady lives in New Orleans, so she’s a bit irregular. Her words, not mine. And there’s a plant lady who comes a couple of times a month.”
Tony frowned. This place had plants? One could only pity them.
“Anyone volunteer anything interesting?” BT asked.
Hansen rolled his eyes. “They were all interesting and volunteered too much.” He shrugged. “Crime unit’s still working the scene. It’s a mess.”
Tony thought for a moment. Usually he’d start with the top when politics and influence were involved. Didn’t hurt to appear to be toeing the party line, but he just wasn’t in the mood. He turned to BT. “Let’s start with the one who found the body.”
“I’ll show you where she is,” Junior said.
Tony and BT followed him down the hall and around a corner, stopping outside a partially closed door. Through the gap Tony could see a woman standing with one hip propped against the edge of a desk, staring at a wall of envelopes partially obscuring an art deco window.
Tony paused, studying her curiously. She was tall and slim, not flashy, and seemed to be wearing half her closet. But her legs were nice and long. He’d always had a weakness for long legs, though he was trying to get over it, since it hadn’t exactly worked to his benefit in the past.
Her face was pale and she looked strained. Her features were clean and crisp, her mouth nicely full. As if she’d become aware of his scrutiny, she looked at him, her eyes still showing the signs of recent shock. In addition to shock, he could see intelligence in their depths, and possibly humor, if the laugh lines around them were any indication. He’d always liked lean dark women, but he wasn’t here to get a date. He’d learned the hard way that his detective skills stopped where his hormones began. As he studied her, he became aware that the room was icy cold, which explained the layers of clothes. He didn’t wonder why she hadn’t brought in a space heater. The old building’s wiring probably felt threatened by the candle she had burning on her credenza.
“Hel-lo,” BT peering over Tony’s shoulder, his voice the one he reserved for women, children and dogs.
She straightened and faced them both, her brows arching. BT eased past him into the room. Tony was in perfect position to see her gaze start at BT’s face, move down, then back up. Maybe the kid couldn’t help turning on the charm, but Tony hoped she’d recognize the shtick. It wasn’t fair of him, but there was no law said he had to be.
BT thrust out his hand. “Ray Ray Rambieu. Homicide. And this here’s Tony Voisel.”
This was where women usually simpered and blushed, but she did neither. She shook his hand, but she looked at Tony when she said, “Capri Hinkenlooper. Editor.” A pause. “Ray Ray?”
He grinned, turning on the full court press in charm. “I was named after both my grandpappy’s.”
“Right.”
She took back her hand as soon as she finished speaking, another departure from the norm. Usually they held on as long as they could. He smiled at her, not because he should, but because he wanted to.
“If you’re up to it, we’d like to ask you some questions?”
She nodded as BT pulled out a notebook, borrowing a pencil from the cup on her desk with a quick smile.
Tony started with some easy questions and was rewarded when she started to relax, but he could tell she was worried about something. He started to probe, because it was his job. “And you went to see the victim because….?”
She hesitated, heat springing into her face. “I noticed my letter opener was gone…” She made a vague gesture toward a pile of mail waiting on her desk, “I thought he might have it. He’d been messing with it yesterday when he stopped by my office.”
“Why did he stop by?” BT asked.
She hesitated. “He wanted me to help him edit a book he was working on.” Her voice turned as icy as the room.
“You didn’t like him” Tony said. It was a statement, not a question.
She shrugged.
“No. No one I know liked him.”
“Was that the last time you saw him alive?” BT asked, looking up from his notes.
She looked at Tony when she said, “Yes.”
“Do you think he took your letter opener?”
Another long look. “Yes, I do. He liked…” She paused. “He wanted everyone to be as miserable as he was.”
“Did you argue?”
Her eyes widened. “I suppose it was an argument…of sorts.”
“What sort of argument was it?” Tony pressed.
“The only kind you could have with Dennis. I told him no and he didn’t listen until I told him to go to hell. Only a bit more graphically than that.” She sighed, rubbing her face. “He wouldn’t stop until you lost your temper. He’d just sit there blinking at you like a loathsome bug pushing until…and then he’d smirk.”
“Wasn’t he your boss?” BT asked, looking a bit surprised.
“No, well, okay technically I suppose he was.” She rubbed her face again. “But Mose Milton said I didn’t have to do what he said when I threatened to quit a few months ago.” She looked wry. “He needed me because I actually worked. Dennis was a poisonous little man. When I think about it, I’m surprised…”
Tony waited for her to finish and when she didn’t, prompted, “…surprised…”
“Surprised he survived as long as he did.”
It wasn’t a surprise when no one admitted
